


One More Time

by angelsdemonsducks



Series: rise up [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Aaron is So Done™, Alex has a blog, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Elections, Gen, Politics, so that should be a warning in of itself, the current state of american politics to be more specific
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 22:39:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8178722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsdemonsducks/pseuds/angelsdemonsducks
Summary: He pauses, and the grin breaks out across his face. “Holy shit, this is so great. I’ve got to get writing, like, now.”
“You’ve got to what.”
Alex waves him aside. “I’ve got a pretty popular political blog. I’ll endorse him, spread the news, campaign for him, something.”
“You have a political blog?” Aaron shakes his head, seemingly exasperated. "Nevermind, of course you do."





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a thing, and I’m not sorry. Uh, warnings for the current state of American politics, and if you by any chance happen to support Trump, you may want to leave.
> 
> Reminder that reincarnation is a normal, accepted part of society in this universe.

Alex is happier than he has been in a while. A very, very long while. Maybe even since he remembered.

No, that’s not a fair thing to say. He has had plenty of happy moments since he remembered. It’s just, none of them have been with people he really cared about. There have been moments of success, celebrated by him and those around him. There have been fun times with friends, though, admittedly, most friends that he makes in this time period tend to drift away. He leads a successful life. He managed to work his way up to being a proper lawyer and got hired by one of the best firms in the nation. He thinks his parents would be proud of him.

(He is still an orphan this time, though it happened differently. His father stayed, and his mother never got sick, and they moved to New York before he was even born. But a car crash took them when he was fourteen, and that’s when he figured out that maybe there are some things that can’t be changed.)

But meeting Aaron Burr again? He would be lying if he said it didn’t feel fantastic.

Is he still irritated with him? Yes. Of course. But he hadn’t been lying when he said he’d forgiven him. He’d forgiven him the moment the bullet hit, able to see the look of horror and regret on his face with perfect clarity.

( _ “Wait!” _ he’d shouted, the irony of it clear. Because ‘wait for it’ had been Burr’s motto, his creed, and the one time that it would have better for him to follow his own advice, he didn’t. Alexander might have laughed if he hadn’t been busy choking on his own blood.)

Burr was sorry for how things turned out, and so was he. Well, not so much for the actions leading up to it; Alex always spoke his mind, and he refused to apologize for saying something that, at the time, he had meant every word of, even if he had been a dick about it. But he was sorry for the friendship they lost, for the time that ran out too soon, and the effects their actions had on the people around him.

So, when he realized just who he was working next door to (again), he didn’t let the opportunity go to waste. He hadn’t been expecting Burr to have an emotional breakdown, but then again, he supposes that if Burr really has been on his own this whole time, having a crying session is a more than understandable reaction. 

(He’s broken down more than a few times himself, when he has had one drinks too many and stumbles back home in the dead of night. Because he misses them, all of them, with an intensity that he has never before felt. Mulligan, Lafayette. Washington. John, Angelica.  _ Eliza _ . Even Jefferson would have been welcome, because as much as they disliked one another, a familiar face is a familiar face.

But he always goes home alone.)

After that, he is surprised at how smoothly things go. They fight, of course, they argue, and he is reminded of what exactly an argument with Aaron Burr consists of. He is not like Jefferson, he doesn’t get angry and passionate. He goes stone cold, slamming up walls and hiding behind pretenses of politeness. And when he is truly, truly angry, he just. Stops. Shuts down, goes silent, ignores him. Alex doesn’t like it when that happens because

(what if he gets too fed up, what if he  _ leaves _ )

it reminds him too much of bad times, times he would rather not think about. Besides, he is trying to be a better person this time around, trying to be a better friend, and he genuinely wants things between the two of them to be alright. And Burr seems to want the same thing, if the way he sticks around is any indication. No matter how hard they fight, no matter what words are exchanged between them, they always come back together, always make up, and for that, Alex is glad.

They are two planets in orbit of each other, he and Burr. They always have been. In the future, their paths may fly apart, or they may come too close together to sustain. But for now, they circle in perfect equilibrium.

Leaving Alex to wonder, how long can this last?

* * *

What upsets it is this: they are in Alex’s apartment, as is their wont. They spend more time together than apart, these days. They explain it by saying it’s a “past life thing” and leaving it at that, but their coworkers still suspect them of having a relationship, which irritates Aaron but amuses Alex to no end.

(And it’s not like he would mind a relationship with Aaron, really. He is very fond of him, and it certainly doesn't hurt that the man is gorgeous.

But then he thinks of John. Of John, and of Eliza. His love for them has not faded, even after all these years. If he could find even one of them…)

They discovered early on that they live fairly close to each other, and so coming over to the other’s place became commonplace. Alex will go over to Aaron’s with board games and shitty takeout food

(“-no, I am not playing Sorry with you, what the fuck, Hamilton.”

“Why? You scared I’ll beat you?”)

and Aaron will go over to Alex’s with slightly better quality takeout food and his Netflix subscription, and they will spend thirty minutes debating what to watch

(“Supernatural? Have you no taste?”

“Okay, Sherlock then?”)

before settling on something.

It is, now that Alex is reflecting on it, a bit of a codependent relationship. But it works for them; they click with each other in a way that they have not truly clicked with anyone for two hundred years. And so, they are almost satisfied. They can almost forget to notice what is not there.

Aaron sits on Alex’s couch, fiddling with the remote, surfing through all the channels that Alex doesn’t want but pays for anyway. He is taking up the entire sofa like the complete shit he is, so Alex sits on the floor in front of it, his laptop open, twenty different tabs up pertaining to his recent case, the defense of a victim of domestic abuse.

“You do realize,” Aaron says, “that we have the day off.” He says it in that tired tone of voice that means it is not a question but an expression of exasperation. Alex scoffs, not looking up..

“They should know better than to give me any of those,” he replies. “Hey, what do you think of this one?” He shoves the laptop in Aaron’s face, the article he has pulled up a precedent he is thinking about using. Aaron sighs.

“Using that would be a gamble,” he states. “It probably wouldn’t have any effect unless some of the jury members lived around the time that occurred. You need to think more personally.”

Alex frowns. “How anybody could see that and not be affected is beyond me,” he grumbles, and pulls up his news feed to distract himself for a moment. Of course, that doesn’t work well, considering that all the news these days is about the upcoming circus of an election. How Trump managed to snag the GOP nomination is honestly just. Beyond him. He has tried to fight with him on Twitter, but he is constantly, consistently ignored.

(Sometimes, he considers getting himself historically verified. People would pay attention to him then. But something always holds him back.)

He thinks even Jefferson might be ashamed to learn what his party has turned into.

“Fucking Trump,” he mutters, and hears Aaron laugh quietly, because for all their disagreements, that is something on which they are both of the same mind. 

He jumps from article to article, not really bothering to read any of them, too distracted, too angry to focus on them. They are all the same anyway.

And then, one catches his eye, centers all of his awareness on the report.

It is a short article, but no less potent for it. Alex scans it quickly, hardly daring to believe what he is reading. He goes over it again once he is done just to be sure that his mind isn’t playing tricks on him.

“Holy shit,” he says distantly, and senses Aaron stilling behind him. The channel flipping stops, settles on some kind of sports channel.

“What is it?” He sounds curious, perhaps a little worried. Alex hands him the laptop without a word, turning to watch his reactions. He can see the exact moment Aaron gets it, his eyes widening and eyebrows climbing halfway up his forehead. He looks at him, his face stunned, and Alex laughs breathlessly.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah.”

George Washington is running for president. 

_ George fucking Washington _ is running for president. The fact that he is alive at all during this time is enough to make him giddy, but the fact that he is running for president is just. Too much.

( _ one last time, he says with a smile, and Alexander just wants to cry _ )

“While some argue over whether or not Washington should be able to run at all, considering he has already held office for two terms, the general consensus is that his current identity, George Wagner, has never held office and is thus a viable candidate. When asked about his decision to run, Washington offered this statement: ‘I did not want the presidency the first time, and I do not particularly want it now. However, in these uncertain times, the American people deserve a president who they know is on their side. I felt that I could not stand by and allow the country to fall into the the hands of those who only serve themselves.’” Aaron finishes reading the last part aloud. “He’s running as an independent?” he asks, handing the laptop back. Alex nods.

“Bit late for the party nominations,” he says. “Besides, he didn’t even want us to have a two-party system in the first place. You honestly think he’d run as either?” He pauses, and the grin breaks out across his face. “Holy shit, this is so great. I’ve got to get writing, like, now.”

“You’ve got to what.”

Alex waves him aside. “I’ve got a pretty popular political blog. I’ll endorse him, spread the news, campaign for him,  _ something _ .”

“You have a political blog?” Aaron shakes his head, seemingly exasperated, and Alex just barely bites back the  _ yes Burr, of course I do, why wouldn’t I, get with the program _ that wants to come spilling out of his mouth. “Nevermind, of course you do. Alex, are you sure this is something you want to be doing?”

He pauses in the middle of opening a new post. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that actively endorsing him could be risky. If his bid fails, you’ll be tied to his name forever-”

“There are worse names to be tied to.”

“-and in all likelihood, you’re going to have to come out into the open as Alexander Hamilton-”

“And that should bother me why?”

“-and take on all of the baggage that will come with that name.” Aaron gives him a measured stare. “If you thought it was bad in the 1800s, think of how it will be now. With today’s technology, your every damn move will be scrutinized, and-”

“Then I’ll deal with that!” he bursts out, his frustration brimming over, because

( _ c’mon, Burr, if you stand for nothing what’ll you fall for? he asks, he prods, he pleads _ )

he hates it when Aaron gets like this,

( _ and damn it all if Burr doesn’t just brush him off again and again and again _ )

overly cautious and reticent and so goddamn careful that it’s stifling. “I’ll deal with it,” he continues, “just like I always have. Don’t you get it? This is bigger than me, and this is bigger than you. You honestly think I’m just going to stand by and do nothing to help while a man I respect and value greatly runs for the highest office in the nation? I don’t think so! I’m not stopping because you’re scared of expressing your opinion, Burr!” And he cuts himself off there, swallowing the rest of the angry words that want to come out, because no. He promised himself he wouldn’t do this. How many times has he reminded himself not to fuck this up?

Aaron holds his gaze for several long moments, anger flashing behind dark eyes, and for a minute, Alex thinks that this might be it. This might be the breaking point. This might be where Aaron decides that he has had enough.

“Let me edit it, then,” Aaron says, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the couch. “If you’re going to write something, let me edit it before you post it. God knows what harm you’ll do if I let you do it by yourself.”

He takes a moment to process that. Relief fills him, along with a heady exhilaration. Aaron’s okay with letting him do this. Not only that, but Aaron is going to help him do this. A wide smile spreads across his face.

“Of course,” he agrees, only slightly louder than Aaron’s groan. “Of course. We’ll do this together, okay? The world’s not going to forget this.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Aaron mutters, but there is fondness in his voice, and the corners of his mouth are twitching upward. Alex grins at the sight, then turns his attention to his laptop, to that blank new blog post that is just waiting to be filled up with words.

And he writes like there will be no tomorrow, like tomorrow will depend on it, like he is running out of time. The words come easily to his fingertips, and he types long into the night.

* * *

The end result, after Aaron is done with it, is a little shorter than he would like.

But it gets the point across, and that is what matters.

* * *

**Thoughts on the Presidential Election**

A.M.

  


You all know by now that I have strong opinions toward the upcoming election. Trump is a racist, sexist dirtbag, and I would vote for Clinton any day over him. I hope that I have made that clear. However, there are many people in this country that don’t feel that way. Indeed, there are many people in the country that would rather stay home than vote for either candidate, and I understand that. I do not agree with that, considering everything this country has gone through to grant the people the freedom to vote, but I understand. However, there is another option: voting third-party.

  


I know that this may seem like a stupid idea to many of you, and with good reason. Third-party candidates rarely get elected to any position, much less win the presidency. For better or for worse, our nation is a two-party system. However, that is partially the case because third-party candidates do not have any of the publicity or the funds that Democrats and Republicans do, something that I am endeavoring to change here.

  


Of course, there is a specific candidate I have in mind. His name is one that many will recognize by now: George Wagner. Aka, the man who has not only revealed his bid for presidency, but also the fact that in a past life, he was none other than the father of our nation, George Washington himself.

  


Do not mistake me; I do not endorse this man only because he is the founder of our country. There is no candidate currently running, Democrat, Republican, or third-party, that would make a better President than George Wagner…

  


George has to look up at that point, meeting the eyes of his campaign manager with a shocked gaze. “This was published this morning?” he asks, quickly scrolling through the rest. It is exquisitely written, a solid endorsement. Something that he hadn’t been expecting at so soon, and not from such a popular liberal blog.

His choice to run wasn’t made because he wanted to be President again-- indeed, he didn’t even want to be President the first time, and he definitely doesn’t want to be President now. It was made because standing idly by while the country that he and so many others fought so hard to create is torn apart is not his style. He does not want the nation to fall into the hands of people worse than King George III could ever have been.

And now… now, it seems like he may have more of a chance than he thought.

His campaign manager, his  _ wife _ (who really deserves better than having to put up with his whims), nods. “Very early this morning. Roughly five o’clock, eastern standard time. George, the blog that published this has more than two million followers,” she says. 

That… that is very surprising. He scrolls through some of the other articles on the blog. They are all firmly liberal-slanted, very opinionated, very well-written. The way they are crafted speaks of experience with politics, but also of passion and determination. And a deep-seated loathing toward Trump, he notes with a slight smile.

...Now that he is looking closer, the style seems very familiar.

“Have people been reading it?” he asks absently, trying to figure out where he’s seen this before. He follows many political blogs, so he’s likely seen pieces from this author before. That’s probably it…

“Dear, you’ve blown up in popularity overnight,” Martha says. “And not only because you’re you. Millions of people want to know exactly who you are and what you stand for.”

George blinks. That is to be expected, if this blog really is as popular as all that, but to have millions of people asking about him is a feeling he doesn’t know how to get used to. Everyone knew his name the first time around; he was elected unanimously, whether he wanted it or not. And while everyone now knows his name this time around too, thanks to his past, there is still his life now, as George Wagner, that people don’t know anything about.

“Right,” he says. “Can we get something lined up? A press conference? We’ll want to expand out staff, too. I didn’t expect people to catch on this quickly.”

Martha nods and regards him with a look of amusement. “I’ll get on that. And dear, honestly, you were George Washington. People were going to catch on no matter what we did. That’s why we announced it in the first place.”

He frowns. “Right. I’ll get to work on my speech. Or find a decent speechwriter,” he tacks on, and then… wait. He freezes, going back to the blog that Martha pulled up on his phone. This style---  _ this goddamn writing style,  _ with the tangents and the conviction and honestly, just the sheer length--- it would be one hell of a coincidence, but---

“Martha,” he says softly, “we need to find who wrote this.”

He eyes drift from his face to the phone and then back again. She seems to understand what he is getting at, because she doesn’t protest, just nods.

_ It really would be too much of a coincidence,  _ he thinks,  _ but if there’s anyone who can pull it off, it’s him. _  


**Author's Note:**

> And so the plot… sort of begins. A little bit. Next part should move on to a few other characters (cough cough Eliza cough cough), and then everyone will really start coming together.
> 
> Feel free to drop a review, or talk to me on my (poorly organized, scarcely used, but somehow still existent) tumblr, angelsanddemonsandducks.


End file.
